Stovetop Mac 'n' Cheese
by LeefortheWinchester
Summary: Castiel is human, hungry, and lost, trying to find his way back to the Winchesters. In a moment of desperation, he happens across a waitress who offers help. Castiel realizes they may have more in common than they think. Plus, she makes a mean mac 'n' cheese.


Castiel was starving. He searched his pockets for money. Hoping for dollars, only fifty cents appeared. Impulsively he spent it on lukewarm coffee. Now he only found lint and a stick of gum that Jimmy Novak meant to chew eight years ago.

The garbage bins outside of the restaurant held no temptation. But they did promise food and the last four days had been lacking in that capacity. Three days trekking through the countryside and one wandering around a nondescript American town. Three hours spent hunched over a fifty-cent cup of coffee before he was turned back out onto the street.

Hunger had revealed his humanity. No teleportation? Metatron clipped his wings. Cuts and scrapes that refused to heal? Drained powers from the fall. Hunger? Humanity.

Famine had shown him hunger as an angel. And even then it had been a mechanical, red-meat driven hysteria. Now he would eat anything. Even garbage.

He approached the dumpster, stumbling on fallen trash and reeking piles of wet leaves. A squadron of flies hovered above the lid and he grimaced at the thought that he would probably be eating a few of them tonight if they hovered too close to his meal. The lid squeaked ominously as it opened.

He would never know what it felt like to eat from a garbage bin, however. At that moment the flimsy metal door to back of the restaurant swung open, revealing a tall woman hauling a black garbage bag, bent over at the hip and swearing profusely.

"Jesus Christ god FUCKING dammit—it is disgusting back here oh—" She caught sight of Castiel, who stood frozen, dripping dumpster lid still clasped in his hand. He let it go with a bang and turned on his heel to leave.

"Hey wait up!" she called after him.

He stopped, turning back around to face her. She stood tall now with a quizzical tilt to her head. Her hair hung straight to her ears and appeared black in the darkness. Her clothes matched the androgynous uniform of the diner workers. She held the bag in front of her now, as if a shield.

"What's with the outfit?" She asked cautiously.

He looked down at his stained and tattered clothes, barely recognizable as the suit it once was. He tried to think up a way to get away. What did humans like to hear?

"I'm… lost."

"Lost?"

"Yes."

She shrugged. "Can I help you find your way?"

Not expecting another question, he fumbled, trying to search for any words that might satisfy her apparent curiosity. "No I—I suppose I don't know where I'm going."

She moved closer, short hair swinging back and forth with her large hoop earrings. "You don't strike me as homeless, not with the suit and tie and all."

He couldn't think of an answer that. Was he homeless? Him and thousands of other angels?

"But you must be hungry enough if you want to eat our garbage," she shuddered as if the thought repulsed her, "Well, I suppose I should get you something to eat at least."

He began to protest. "You don't have to do that—"

"Nonsense!" she laughed, "My deep-seeded Catholic guilt would never let me sleep if I let you go. I'm really doing this for myself."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it when he stomach growled angrily. He was hungry, that much was undeniable. Wordlessly, he nodded.

"Perfect!" She lifted the lid to the dumpster and swung the black bag inside with gusto.

"You can call me Jen," she had said as they made their way to a quiet apartment complex. The red brick was covered in ivy that fluttered in the breeze.

"Jen." He tested the word out in his mouth, liking the simplicity of it. He was used to simple names for humans. She didn't ask for his name, but he offered it anyway.

"Cas," she said, drawing out the "a" sound. "Like the friendly ghost?" She chuckled at his look of confusion.

She made him macaroni and cheese. Unlike Sam and Dean, she didn't use neon orange powder out of a box, haphazardly thrown in the microwave. Instead she slowly simmered heavy cream and milk on the stove while adding at least five different cheeses to the sauce before gingerly folding in the pasta. The smell was salty and delicious, and it was all he could do to let her portion the pasta out and grab him a fork before he dug in with gusto, barely holding back a moan when the steaming hot cheese melted on his tongue.

Jen watched him eat, picking at her own helping slowly. "So…" she began, "You gonna murder me or something?"

Cas looked up, shocked by her frankness. He knew that it was uncommon for women to put themselves in the company of men they didn't know and trust, but he was just realizing that he was now a _human_ _man._

"I would never—I appreciate everything you have done for me," he sputtered, struggling to speak while involuntarily shoving more food in his mouth, "It's more than I deserve."

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Don't go all martyr on me now." She relaxed a bit more, taking a few more bites before reaching into the fridge to pour them two glasses of diet soda.

"So what brings you to this hellhole of a town?" she asked, setting the glass down in front of him.

He stiffened, gripping the fork tight until his knuckles whitened. Jen held up her hands. "No backstory? No biggie. We've all got a past."

Cas relaxed, even as guilt spidered through his veins. Jen believed him and fed him, proving to be one of humanity's best.

Cas took too long in the shower, he knew. But the bathroom had filled up with steam and it just felt so _good_ to shed his layers of clothing and step under the hot spray. Time ceased to exist and ten minutes had already gone by when he realized that he should be soaping up his hair and body. He quickly finished up and turned the water off, wrapping a teal colored towel around his waist.

He walked out of the bathroom back into the apartment. Jen was rummaging in a drawer, pulling out pants and shirts. She had already changed into a pair of pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. She straightened up, gasping slightly when she saw him.

"Jeez, you must be a ninja or something," she smiled nervously, her eyes quickly flicking up and down his form before she met his eyes.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

She smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry about it." She held up the clothes in her arms. "You're in luck, my ex-boyfriend left a ton of stuff here, and I think he was about your size…" She held up a t-shirt in front of him. It was a saturated green color and lined navy blue around the collar.

He stepped into the bathroom to get dressed, pulling the canvas pants and t-shirt on over his still damp skin. It felt strange to only have one layer of clothing after sporting a heavy business casual ensemble for close to eight years. He inspected his face in the spotted mirror, hands rasping over three day old stubble and a bruised neck. Despite the clothing, he felt naked.

Jen was seated at her small sofa flipping through a magazine when he returned to the living area. She smiled wide, showing off an impressive collection of white teeth. "See! Perfect fit."

Cas blushed under her gaze, twisting around to look at his new confusing outfit. "Thanks. Though I am confused as to what I'm supposed to put in the pockets."

She shook her head, her smiled shrinking to one of bemusement. "Beats me. Called cargo pants. It's an army guy thing."

"Your boyfriend was a soldier?"

She nodded. "Yup. Two tours in Iraq. What about you?" she asked. He tilted his head, confused. "You know, are you a soldier?"

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, setting her magazine down on the coffee table. "No reason. Just seem like the type."

"Oh. Well, yes. For a long time." He looked around; spotting a clock on the wall that read 12 AM. "I should go…"

She threw up her hands. "Of course! If you want. I-I'm sorry, I'm so horrible at small talk. If you want to stay, I promise, no more personal questions."

Cas shook his head. "I don't mind that… I don't want to take up your time."

"Pssshhh. I don't sleep. Not very well at least. I'd rather talk, if you'd like." Hey eyes were wide and unsure, as if surprised at her admission.

Castiel thought about his mission, if it could even be called that. Did he want to return to the Winchesters? He needed answers, to figure out how to help the angels. He needed to keep walking. He felt refreshed and should leave this woman before he made a mess of her life too. But for some reason he found himself sitting next to her on the bright orange sofa.

Another hour passed, filled with seemingly pointless chatter. He felt his new soul humming with pleasure from the interaction. Jen's smile was wide and when she laughed too hard it came out as a silent wheeze. He learned that she was from Michigan, and had left to get away from the snow. She worked in advertising for a large conglomerate company, but dreamed of owning her own daycare center. He listened raptly, offering responses and exclamations when necessary. Laughter bubbled in his chest and his mouth formed smiles without any trouble.

"How did you learn to cook macaroni and cheese like that?" Cas asked after they had fallen silent. She sat facing him, her knees tucked underneath her.

"My ex, actually. He liked to cook," she said, smiling while looking off into space, "I shouldn't say 'liked,'" she mimed finger quotes, "He's not dead. Just… gone."

Cas rested his elbow on the back of the couch, propping his head in his hand. "Gone?"

"Yeah. He has some issues. Post traumatic stress, depression, the works," she looked away picking at a thread on her sweatpants, "I wasn't the best girlfriend about it. I just wasn't ready to deal with it, I guess."

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Ending it."

She huffed out a breath. "Question of the year. I know it was the best decision for me. And he needed something I couldn't give. But I still loved him, you know?"

Castiel nodded as a familiar voice echoed off the walls of his mind. _I'm asking you not to do this, that's it… I wish this changed anything._ He shook his head to clear it, realizing that Jen still waited for his answer.

"Yes. I do know."

She continued to look at him, brown eyes locked with his own blue. A strange heat curled up in his abdomen, and he wondered if he was hungry again. But this felt different from hunger.

"So," she said, her voice muted slightly, "Can I ask about your story or are you gonna try to escape again?"

"My story?"

"No the mailman's."

"Why would you want the m—oh," he smiled as she chuckled at his late pick-up of sarcasm. "I suppose that I've made some mistakes, and I'm… I'm going to make it up to those I've hurt."

She pondered for a moment before speaking. "Hmmm… Lame."

Castiel stuttered, taken aback, "L-Lame?"

"It's just so _vague._ Oh well, I suppose just because I'm spilling my guts to a total stranger doesn't mean you have to." She turned away, a shadow beginning to form over her eyes.

Without warning, he suddenly had the urge to reach out, to _touch_. A moment before she had been smiling and laughing, and now her walls were back. Cas missed it already.

He reached forward, brushing the top of her hand with his own. She looked down at his fingers, but didn't move away.

"Jen I… My story. Well, I've been traveling my whole life."

"Cas, you don't have to—"

"Yes," He affirmed, "I do." He took a shaky breath. "Everyone in my family is a soldier. We lived by the standards of obedience, honor, and duty. But I never wanted it, especially when duty wanted me to do things that I couldn't—" He broke off, knowing that he couldn't tell her everything. Even if he wanted to more than anything.

She turned her hand palm-upwards, lacing their fingers together. Castiel shivered. "It's ok," she reassured him, "I can see that a lot's happened to you. But you're trying to make it right, that's what matters."

Castiel swallowed, clutching her hand tighter so that their palms pressed together. Somehow, she had gotten closer. Her knees brushed the sides of his thighs, sending more pinpricks of heat to his chest. He couldn't meet her eyes, shame flushing his cheeks.

"Hey," she turned his face toward her with her free hand. He met her eyes, mesmerized by their rich dark color. Her hair appeared black at first glance, but upon inspection it was actually a deep rich brown. As an angel he would have been able to name every color in her hair.

They held eye contact, their hands still tangled together in her lap as her other hand dropped down to rest on his shoulder.

"You know," she said, her voice too loud in the silence, "You're really beautiful," blush flooded her olive-toned face, "I know guys don't like to hear that, but you are."

His breath shuddered in his chest. She leaned forward, keeping her eyes locked with his as she brushed her lips against the corner of his. The touch was feather-light, more of a question really. Castiel's heart beat against his ribs and he froze under the caress.

She broke away, and Castiel missed the contact immediately. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "There's just something about you…"

"Jen…" Her hand was still on his shoulder, straddling the line between his neck and collarbone. "Don't apologize."

She smiled and Castiel leaned forward to capture her lips again. Castiel broke their clasped hands apart so that he could cup her face gently, pulling her closer to him. She moaned softly into his mouth, the vibrations sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin. Her hands restlessly explored the expanse of his chest, settling on his waist where she fisted his shirt tightly.

Somehow she ended up in his lap, legs straddling his hips. Her touch was tender but hurried as she rucked his shirt up to his chest, rocking her hips onto his hardening erection with a gasp that he quickly captured with his mouth. His lips parted easily for her, and she explored the recesses of his mouth with lazy thrusts of her tongue.

He pulled his shirt over his head, moving to grasp at the hem of her pajama top. Their hands tangled as she made quick work of discarding it before surging back down to reclaim his lips. He rubbed his hands up and down her sides, enjoying the shudder in her breath as she broke away to latch her lips onto the skin of his neck.

With one swift motion he moved, and she was flat on her back, laughing as she bounced up and down on the couch cushions. He winced, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

With a toothy grin she sat up, grabbing a handful of his collar to drag him down on top of her. "Don't apologize."

He smiled back before burying his head in the crook of her neck to mouth at the soft skin there. She parted her legs, wrapping them around his hips to pull him closer, their clothed arousals grinding together. He moaned into her neck, experimentally rolling his hips against her. Her hands clawed at his back, massaging his shoulders as she rocked against him in rhythm.

He pulled back, waiting for her eyes to flutter open again. Her pupils were blown wide and her lips stood out red and swollen from kissing. "Jen," his voiced was gravelly, unhinged by want, "What do you want?"

"Just…" Her chest heaved with ragged breath, "Just touch me."

Cas nodded, and was happy to oblige as she slipped her hands under the waistband of his jeans.

Cas woke up with Jen's arms around him. Somehow they had made it to bed the night before, and lay flush together, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Sunlight filtered in through the adjacent window, keeping his left arm warm while his right arm froze.

He carefully extracted himself from Jen's embrace, wincing as the bedsprings creaked. Her eyes remained closed. Padding over to where his clothes lay on the couch, he pulled the pants on over bare skin, following with the t-shirt. A small folded pile of clothes fell of the arm of the couch with a _flop_. Swearing quietly, he reached down to gather the clothes, before realizing they were his. Jimmy Novak's suit and Trench looked almost new and smelled of lavender fabric softener.

Something clenched in his chest at the sight of the folded clothes. He glanced back over at the bed where Jen lay fast asleep and contemplated waking her. They could go get breakfast. Take a walk. Kiss a little more. Make her gasp as he had in the dark of last night. He could say a proper goodbye.

He shook the thought out of his head, guilt weighing heavy in his stomach. It would be better for her to never see him again, and for no one to know she had contact with him, he thought to himself. No good could come from it.

Without any use for a business suit, he set it back down on the couch. A jacket could be useful, even in the summer heat. Slinging the trench coat over his arm, he took one last look at Jen's sleeping form, all soft curves. A better man would leave her a note.

He grabbed a bagel off of Jen's counter before exiting the apartment, guilt pulsating through his blood. The day had dawned cold and wet. He shrugged on the coat, grateful that he had taken it with him. Shoving his hands in the pockets, he was immediately stabbed in the hand with something sharp. Reaching down farther, the object smoothed out into paper.

He pulled it out of his pocket, sucking on his paper cut. He unfolded the paper, and something slipped out to the ground. Stooping down, his eyes widened in shock when he picked up a hundred dollar bill. Quickly pocketing the bill, he turned back to the paper. He leaned up against a building to read the hastily scrawled writing covering the lined page.

_Cas,_

_You probably thought that you left mysteriously in the wee hours of the morning before I was awake. The sad thing is that I was up at 4 AM because I remembered I had a gigantic load of laundry to do. Call it insomnia with a purpose. So I thought I would throw your stuff in too. Not sure if you wanted the suit, but the trench coat is pretty badass, so I figured you would take it with you._

_About the cash, don't freak out, I'm not paying you for your services or anything (not that they weren't excellent services). I just think you deserve a chance. I'm aware that I don't know you, not really. You could be sitting on 3 million in drug money, who really knows? But something tells me you've been through a lot. Sounded like family shit, which is the worst kind. _

_I meant what I said. There's just something about you, Cas. And if things were different, I would have jumped on you to wake you up and made you pancakes and introduced you to my neighbors. But you've got a mission. Or maybe you're looking for something. Either way, I hope you find it. Or her. Or him. Anything's possible these days._

_I hope you remember me, and I owe you one for listening to my rambling all night. If you're ever in the neighborhood, let me know. I'd like to make you something better than stovetop macaroni and cheese. _

_Your friend, (hopefully)_

_Jen Williams_

Cas read the letter through twice before folding it carefully and placing it back into his pocket. He leaned his head back until it hit the wall, a sigh racking through him that came from his toes. Eyes fluttering shut, he tried remember the events of last night. Her smile, her laugh, the way she would look away when she frowned, the way she cradled his neck as they kissed and held on to him as they made love. He tucked it away in his newly formed human memory where he hoped it would stay safe, away from whatever trials he was about to face.

He straightened as a loud honking sounded in the distance. A train. A man in a suit carrying a brief case strode by him with purpose. Perhaps he was headed for the train station. Cas followed him, confident that he could get home. Like Jen had said, family shit was the worst. It was time to fix his family.


End file.
